What Are We Going To Say?
by Azulsky
Summary: Why are Sam and Dean on a farm in the middle of the night, having a staring contest with a dog? [First Part to The Ruff Warriors Series]


A/N: Please enjoy!

* * *

"What the hell?"

Funny how often that gets said around here. Sam wonders if Dean even watches what he says. After all, the man makes way too many puns and connections to not know what he's talking about. But then again, he passes them off as a side thoughts. He speaks without thinking which is always followed by that funny look on his face once he realizes what he said. More often than not Sam finds himself muffling his giggles. Yes, he'd admit to himself that he giggles. Never out loud, no, god no, wouldn't want to provoke the beast.

"Dean man, seriously, it's just a black dog."

Yep, there goes the flail of the hand towards said dog. Dean was always one for dramatics.

"Does that look like _just_ a dog to you?" And there's the eyebrow. "It's got a fuckin' goat in it's mouth."

"Sheep dog?"

"Sheep are not fuckin' goats, dude." Sam decides to leave that sentence alone.

"So the dog killed the goat. Doesn't mean it's possessed."

"Sam…"

"Oh come on Dean, Look," now he gestures toward said dog," it's not even trying to kill us…It just keeps standing there."

"He's staring at us."

That is interesting. Sam does notice its eyes haven't moved from them since it left the barn and trotting through the structure's doors, one having a hatchet stuck through it, until it stopped upon seeing them. It's eyes glinted from the far porch light of the farm some distance behind the boys.

"How long this stand-off been?"

"Four minutes, give or take a millisecond."

"You freak." Dean doesn't look at his watch. When they were kids, Dean always kept track of the time they could play or escape training and come back right before dad blew a gasket. Sam called it the perfect second. However, just because he knows how much time passes doesn't mean Dean has perfect timing.

"Shut up, I'm not the-"

"Not really a good time, Dean…" Dean grunts back a response; the dog still hadn't moved, not even when Dean shifts his gun to this right hand.

"Freaky ass dog, why are you staring?"

"Maybe because I don't see too many pretty boys all that often out here." Sam could do a lot of things. "And my ass, not freaky at all." Stop his giggling was not one of them. Dean's face is fucking priceless.

Not even the limp body of the goat dropping to the ground as the dog frees it's mouth to talk grosses him out enough to stop laughing. Though, the sound as it hits the ground, yeah, that was disgusting, but nothing he's never heard before.

"And I am a girl."

"…the hell?" The dog looks down at the dead goat.

"This isn't what it looks like." It sounds…bashful. "I found him like this. Frank and Maude would be so disappointed to see that they didn't save Joe here. I was just hiding him."

"Hiding him?" Figures Dean would be the one to talk to the dog, if he talks to himself, why not talk to the dog?

The dog nods, actual conscious nodding. Sam might have imagined the tail joining in on the movement.

"They're overly protective of their flock. It's best if they didn't see this."

"Yeah, talking dogs might freak some people out." Did the dog just scowl? Oh hell on a stick, the fucking dog just scowled at his brother.

"I'm not the one doing B&E with shotguns in hand."

"Hey hey hey, this is Trespassing, not even in the same ballpark as Breaking and Entering."

"Dean, you are arguing with a dog."

"The dog has a name, _human._" Now it was scowling at him.

"Um…what's your name?"

"Maude named me Daisy, but I prefer Alex."

"Ale-"

Screams erupts from a field past the barn, interrupting Sam and the d-Alex takes off like a Banshee high on Pixi-Stics towards it. Dean wasn't far behind.

"Holy Fuck…" Is all Dean says upon seeing the red eyed, mouth foaming beast of a dog. This one's a golden color. Well, it would be if it wasn't covered in blood.

Sam always thought his brother had a way with words.

Dean cocks the gun and shoots buck straight into it's torso. The thing doesn't even flinch.

"Well…shit…" Growling meets their ears. Panic isn't the right word for what Sam knows he's feeling. It's more of an antsy feeling, like when a child wants to leave the room and be elsewhere. The grownups are yelling too much.

Dean cocks the gun again and aims.

"That's not going to do a whole lot of good there, pup."

Alex leaps over the fence, separating the panicking flock and the boys, right on top of the should-be-dead-dog. She lasts fives seconds before she's thrown off onto her side. There's the growling again. Idly, they recognize the first growl was hers too. She's up and snarling. It lunges for her neck and she dodges.

The boys don't know what the hell is going on after the first lunge. Fur is fur, it blurs really well together.

Yelping.

"Sam, there was a hatchet in the barn door." Dean levels off the shotgun as his brother sprints back to the barn. Sam was always the better runner.

Pulling out the hatchet, once he reached the doors, Sam hears three shots in succession. Then cursing. Then yelling.

Sam wonders if the d-Alex curses. He runs faster on the way back.

"Throw it!" Sam doesn't want to miss. "Throw the fucking hatchet, Sam!" It's completely on top of Dean, his leather jacket barely helping. "SAM!"

_THWACK_

Hey, would you look at that. Dead on bulls eye. Someone give that man a cigar. What? Sam doesn't smoke? Oh fine you little party pooper, it's made of bubblegum.

Dean violently pushes the now-truly-and-utterly-dead dog off of him and makes a face.

"What?" Sam figures he has to ask.

"Bad breath." Dean gags.

"I'm fine. Thanks you guys." Breathlessly floats over towards the brothers. Dean's up, with the help of Sam, and they turn together towards the voice. Dean looks down.

"I…uh…" He lifts his head again and looks straight into her eyes. "Thanks." No mistaking the smile on the dog's face. She sighs, trying to get up, but only manages to whimper instead.

"What hurts?"

She chuckles sadly,

"Everything." Dean bends down, breaking out of Sam's grasp, and checks for wounds. "Hey, watch the merchandise." Sam snorts.

"How can you talk?" Sam asks.

"By pushing air past my vocal cords." Dean didn't just high five the dog, did he?

"You don't have any broken skin." Dean informs her before gently lifting her into his arms and starts for the farm house.

"Whoa, hey, please put me down. I can walk."

"And I'm a border collie." Dean didn't know he could read the emotions of a dog from facial expressions. Something new everyday, right? "Bet you have a nice fat, fluffy bed to sleep this workout on." Sam notices Dean limping; he'll save his inquiries until they get to the car.

"The kids. I can't leave them like that."

"The goats?" Sam asks.

"Yeah."

"You did all you can. They are fine."

"But Joe…oh God, now Will. He got them."

"You can't do anything for them now." Alex shook her head, lightly tapping Dean's arms.

"Maude shouldn't find them like that." Sam caught Dean's look.

"Does Maude know you talk?" She shook her head again.

"How?" There's another whimper followed by droopy eyes. Dean's taking the three steps to the porch in stride.

Sam swears he hears her say, "fucking Gypsies," before she passes out in Dean's arms.

"Told you."

"Who are you talking to?"

"The dog, Sam." Dean doesn't react to Sam's questioning look, "Could you please ring the doorbell?" Sam stares.

"Why?"

Dean sighs,

"So she can sleep comfortable in a bed."

"She's a dog."

"That talks."

"Just leave her on the porch." Sam doesn't receive that particular glare from Dean all that often.

"Dude." Warning his younger, slightly taller brother. Sam pokes the ringer.

"What are we going to say?" Alex whimpers again as opens her eyes and blinks a few times until she focuses on Dean.

"What?"

"You need a bath."

Sam conceals his giggling because the front door opens with a pissed off bearded man and a strong as hell looking woman, who just lost two goats and almost their magical talking dog to a crazed-red-eyed-undead-dog, which is dead now. He shouldn't be laughing. Right?


End file.
